


bleach blond beauty

by asexuelf



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Child Neglect, Crushes, Hair Dyeing, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Scars, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21723004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexuelf/pseuds/asexuelf
Summary: Travis' hair needs a touch-up. Sal helps him.
Relationships: Sal Fisher/Travis Phelps
Comments: 13
Kudos: 105





	bleach blond beauty

**Author's Note:**

> getting this finished was a real test akdhsk i wanted to get another salvis fic out before the finale is out though so i persevered!! >:3
> 
> sal doesn't wear his prosthetic in this so he can see through the hole better. being he's only got one eye, i imagine he struggles to see very well even without the mask.
> 
> anyways, enjoy!

It's cold. Somehow, despite how often he does this, he always manages to forget how  _ cold _ it is. Usually it's a little easier; when he does this at home, he just sits in the tub wrapped in a towel and waits until he can wash the bleach out of his hair, but here, shirtless, standing in front of Sal as he works the chemicals through Travis' hair, he feels… exposed. The heat of his face makes the rest of him feel absolutely frozen.

"I've never dyed my hair before."

Travis glances up, then away again. "Really?" Technically neither has he - all he does is bleach it and tone out some of the more offensive yellows to a more acceptable blond. He doesn't correct Sal. "You seem like you'd like it, Sally."

Good-natured but obviously surprised, Sal laughs. "What does that mean?"

"You know, you're…" Travis waffles, rolling a hand in the air.

"...Queer?"

"I was going to say  _ alternative _ ." He blinks down at Sal, suddenly curious. "Is that a thing? Do gay people dye their hair?"

"Our hair." 

He can see Sal's smile. The mask is off and Sal is beautiful, all dark divets and different shades of red. Travis is particularly entranced by the concave of Sal's nose. He hopes he isn't staring.

And then Sal keeps talking, looking somehow nervous and ice cool at the same time, "but yeah! Not all queer folk do, but it's kind of a staple for gay teens to dye their hair."

Travis blinks. "Well, that explains why my father hated it. I just thought it was because I was changing God's vision of me or something."

Sal pauses, the application brush no longer touching Travis' hair. "...But you still did it. You did something for yourself. Even though it was dangerous."

"...I mean, yeah?" He shrugs. "I didn't see it as changing God's vision any more than putting on a different shirt would be."

Sal's voice is oddly hushed when he says, "I'm proud of you."

The blush Travis is fighting only grows worse. "Wh- Whatever. It's not that big a deal, Sally Face." He looks away, eyes wide. "I just like keeping my hair this way. It's… pretty much the only thing in my house I can control, you know?"

A quiet moment passes between them. "Yeah," says Sal. "I do. My dad used to be an alcoholic."

That shocks him silent. Travis doesn't know what anyone is meant to that. "Holy shit."

"Yeah." A laugh leaves Sal, but his face looks stiffer than it normally is (sans prosthesis), his gaze distant. "I don't actually tell people that, so… Keep that one from the gang, okay?"

Unbidden, Travis wraps his arms around the person in front of him. The hugging started early in their friendship, but it's still new to Travis; he wonders if that's why Sal always feels so small, so much smaller than Travis ever expects, despite their height difference. He feels especially small now.

"Sorry," says Sal.

"Don't be." Travis holds him closer. Wants him to never feel sorry again for opening up those pieces of him he always keeps locked tight. "Thank you for sharing. Not sure why you'd share with the resident asshole and not one of the others…"

Sal shrugs, his hair moving with him and catching the light prettily. "It's different with you. I feel different."

Now Travis isn't cold at all. Warmth fills him from head to toe. They've been dancing around it, playing at ignorance to the mutual crush they're each harboring. It's been killing him. 

"Oh," he says, like an idiot.  _ Say you like him! Leave nothing to chance!  _ "I feel different about you too."

The smile Sal gives him is still a little distant, but also beautiful and bright.  _ Present _ . He's here with Travis, his plastic-gloved hands carefully avoiding touching Travis' skin while they hug. The bleach in his hair is making him feel a little crispy. Travis doesn't let go.

"I'm glad your dad's better." It's easier to follow this rabbit hole instead, avoid any fear of what's happening between them for this instead. Especially considering who the conversation is about. Henry is such a nice man - it's hard to think of him as the kind of guy that would make his home unsafe for his child. He seems emotionally distant, maybe even neglectful in that area, but he always provides for Sal where it matters… Right? "He is better, right?"

Sal nods. "Things are a lot better now. He, um… He's not always sober, but he's  _ sober _ sober. And he was never a mean drunk." He stumbles over that word -  _ drunk _ \- like it hurts him coming out. Like the kickback of a gun firing. "It was really hard, after…"

He looks like he's continuing, but he doesn't speak. He's lost in his own head for a while, silent, and Travis doesn't push. Would never push. There are things in Travis that don't need pushing either - usually when those things start to push themselves, Travis does exactly what he's doing now: bleach his hair. 

"I'm glad you both are okay."

Sal comes back to reality. "Yeah, me too." 

He leans his forehead on Travis' chest for a whisper of a moment, just his hairline where he still has skin, carefully avoiding the pain of touch against his scars. Then he removes himself from Travis' arms and the moment is over - and doesn't Travis feel a fool to let him go. 

"Anyways," Sal clears his throat, grabs the brush he's sometime left on the sink, and smiles. "We should get back to bleaching. We don't want it to be uneven!"

That makes Travis laugh, even as his chest aches. "I don't mind uneven color. I'm sure you've noticed I don't do this to look like Adonis."

His smile growing small and secretive, Sal averts his eyes. "Still," he says.

Travis lets him.

Later on, when Sal's washing it out, holding the warm spray as he lays his head back, Travis closes his eyes and allows himself a daydream. Just a small fantasy. He closes his eyes tight and pretends, just for a moment, that he and Sal weren't dancing around each other, and the hands in his hair are a little more familiar, a little more tender. A little more practiced at being held in his own.

It's a pointless dream. Travis feels creepy when it's over. But when it's all washed out and he's sitting on the edge of the tub and Sal is looking down at him and attempting the thankless task of combing anti-brass conditioner through his wet hair, he thinks Sal might be having the same dream.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading 💖


End file.
